A beautiful evening
by ola
Summary: a young girl meets a strange old man, who is not whom he appears to be. sad. please review. a surprising end, if you can understand who it is about.


_A beautiful evening_

_~ By Ola ~_

_~*~*~_

Arrrg! I left the house in a huff, slamming the door to make it clear that I was not happy. I did not even bother to take a coat with me. I didn't want to think about what had happened, it would only make me angrier. And now that I think about that day, so long ago, I do not even remember what had cause so much pain. I lived with my family in a small house overlooking the ocean, a cliff of a hundred feet separating us from this immense body of water. It was always windy, but I loved the smell of the sea, and the salty, stinging breeze that constantly blew in my face. It helped me to relax, and since I desperately needed to calm down, I walked up to the highest point of the mountain that jutted out into the sea. Long ago, a lord had created a lovely park for his lady. It was now long gone, no tree was left under the bitter wind, except for a knotty, warped little pine, bent with age. But two stone benches remained, faithful remembrances of those ancient days. It was to that place that I hurried, as fast as my feet could carry me over the rocks. Once there, I plopped on the nearest bench and turned my face toward the sun, letting its warm rays caress my checks. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, my heart stopped its headlong race, and I felt foolish for leaving so suddenly. I stayed on that bench for a long while, keeping my eyes closed, thinking about nothing, and simply enjoying the beautiful evening. But the wind was chilly, and I shivered, my toes becoming numb in their sandals. Then I opened my eyes and flinched. An old man was sitting on the second bench, but I had not heard him coming. He should have made some noise over the rocky path, or a shadow on the bench when passing in front of me. He had long, white hair, gently streaming behind his back, held together by two tiny braids tied at the nap of his head with a green clip. His complection was fair, his check bones were high, and his face was unnaturally smooth for such an old man. But he was old. He felt old too. His eyes were closed, and he seemed so peaceful, just resting there. For a moment, I wondered if he had passed away. Then I chided myself for thinking such morbid thoughts. But I could not stop myself from looking at him. He was so strange and yet so familiar, in his deep green sweater, and loose brown pants. And although I would have remembered his strange appearance had I seen him before, I kept searching for his face in my memory. Suddenly, he opened his eyes, and I was taken aback by their clearness and sharpness, unchanged by so many years of life. They were as blue as the sea, but in between their twinkle, they held a deep sadness.

"Good evening miss," he said. His voice was still youthful, and to my city bred ears sounded like bell chimes. 

"Good evening sir," I said, managing not to squeak in surprise. He turned his eyes back to the sea, and his conversation seemed to stop there for a time, until he once again spoke to the air.

"Have you ever wished to sail away into the sunset and never come back?" his voice was so soft that I barely heard him. But I did, and I did not know how to answer him. Did he want to die? Or was he a sailor who dearly missed the sea, after a lifetime of sorrows and storms?

"Sometimes, but why do you stay here, if it makes you so sad," I whispered, glancing at the sun, now a hand span over the ocean. It tinted his hair red, and gave an ethereal life to his sad face. For a moment, I could imagine what he might have looked like as a young man: tall and proud, with a face glowing with happiness, and eyes full of knowledge. 

"The sea is calling me, but the woods do not want to let go of my soul."

" I…I do not understand sir."

"No, you would not," he replied with his sad smile, as if talking to a child yet too young to understand the more serious matters of the world.

He sighed and stood up, taking a few silent steps toward the edge of the cliff. He was a dark silhouette against the sinking sun, still standing tall. The years had not succeeded in bending him to their will. He stood there for a time, and I calmly watched him, feeling that this moment was somehow important for him.

Then he turned around, smiled his sad smile.

"Thank you child." And he left, walking down the slope without disturbing any rock. He felt like a wind, blowing through the sea; strong, yet peaceful.

I stayed on that bench for a long time, thinking about that old man, about why he thanked me, and why he seemed so sad. It was full night when I finally came home, all previous quarrels with my brother forgotten.

I walked up to the cliff top the next evening, somehow wishing to see the old man again. I waited until the sun began to set. He did not come. I looked all around, thinking that he might be near, but unnoticed because of his silent walk. I was alone. It was then that my eyes fell on something lying on the second bench. I stood up and went to pick it up. It was a large, green leaf, tied with a piece of leather to a small arrow with strange symbols on its shaft. But what caught my eyes was the tiny silver bloom. I stroked its silky petals with trembling fingers, wondering how and where he had found it, since it was not its growing season, and that it was to be found in the depth of a lush forest, and not atop a windy cliff. Then my eyes were drawn to the sea. Far away, something was floating on the sea. I squinted against the glare of the setting sun, until a smile spread on my face. It was a boat. It was the old man's boat. And he was sailing into the sunset. I imagine him waving cheerfully. I hoped he would finally be happy.

I stood on that cliff until darkness turned the sea into a shimmering veil and the moon peaked from behind the horizon. The old man of the sea was long gone, off to an unknown destination. 

I have kept his present, and I still look at it with wonder, sometimes walking up that steep cliff to admire the sunset. And although it is as beautiful as ever, it holds a special meaning to me. It took me a long time to finally understand why that old man seemed so strange and yet so familiar. His ears had been pointy, and his beauty had not been mortal. It took me an even longer time to comprehend what he had told me that day. 

It has been eighty-five years since that mysterious day. It has been eighty-five years since I last saw an elf listen to the calling of the sea.

~*~*~

A/N- I hope you liked it, understood what the story is about, and how it relates to "Lords of the ring". If you don't then I suppose I am not that good of a writer. But if many people complain, I will add a postscript and some explanation. Please review, tell me what you think, and tell me how you interpreted this story. It would greatly help me.

Thank you.

~Ola~


End file.
